Our Lost Little Isle Song Lyrics. Written By Jay O'Reilly. Jay wrote this
a few years ago when we were still getting used to the recession. It's about how the poor stay poor will the rich get richer
but that the poorer people can still be happier, the tune of the song is set to The Rocky Road To Dublin.

Of the two Irelands that I know,One of them is to be deprived,While the other cannot grow,While she is still
wived,To that emerald ball and chain,Marshalled by the corporate people.She knows all our pain,And she knows
she must rise like a steeple,Against the seemingly unstoppable tide,Choose to be on the losing side,Because she
knows how much our baby has cried.She cannot look away while,The guns are being shot,The merchants are being taken
for all they got,The average man is losing his plotOn our lost little isle.

You may be poor, Roisin Dubh,But you’re more than content.You’ve counted your blessings from
aboveAnd you never doubted they were sentFor you and your poor country folkWe’ve got no moneyBut in
happiness we will soakBecause after the rain, it will be sunny.The bees will carry on,Since the geese have gone,On
their journey most dangerous and long,As they advance mile by mileInto foreign landsAway from homely demands,Marching
with rebel bandsOn our lost little isle.

Of the two Irelands that I know,One is going to be savedAnd other is going to be let goTo the cardboard
shelter with the raved.One group will hold their head up highAnd other doesn’t have toBecause they’re
not breathing the lieFrom the starry sky to the morning dew.The country is going to be alright.We’re awfully
sorry for the frightBut our belts will have to become tight,Much tighter than the current style,Like some newly
woven dress,That makes the men digress,More than they’re will to confess,On our lost little isle.

Cathlenn Ni Houlihan, how you are grand!Your dowry is becoming less,Like a mountain turning back into sand,On
the verge of nothingness.The harlot’s angel of disguise,Your bleached blonde hair,Deceiving both the fools
and the wiseWho know you as a millionaire,Boasting to your friends,About your husband’s ends,And the
false regards he sends.Ah, it’s all too vile,To stand around and hope,That our economy can cope,With
the present slope,On our lost little isle.